Disease
by AlchemyBetweenThem
Summary: What could have happened to Irene, after Game of Shadows? And what if Sherlock eventually found her, alive?


**Dear readers, here is my new OS about Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler, my favourite characters. I first wrote and published it in French, but I thought it could be a good idea to translate it. My story sets after Game of Shadows, when Holmes tries to find Irene, who actually is in a sanatorium to try to recover from her disease due to Moriarty's poison. **

**Like many other people, I don't want to believe in her death. I'm sorry, my English is far from being perfect, but I did my best. I hope one more time that this text is understandable. **

**I don't own any of the characters here, of course ^^**

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Sherlock Holmes needed nearly three minutes to break in the room. Fitted with his tool kit, which was always in a pocket of his coat, he didn't give up, and eventually, succeeded. Once he penetrated in the room, he observed it. It was nearly as tiny as his office, but cleaner. So was a patient room. Lifeless. White walls. With only a bed, a chair, and a table. He had to admit it, _she_ was critically ill. Finding her had been an obsession for him since Moriarty's defeat. She was safe now, even if she had already paid the piper of this man's madness.

Thinking this, Sherlock went near the bed, arranged in the middle of the room. At least, she was there. Seeing her was like filling in a huge hole in his chest. His heart was beating so hard... Disease had transformed her : in a deep sleep, Irene Adler was pale, more than usually. Her lips, which were so luscious before, now were cracked. Her hair framed her face which, despite these details, was perfect, as always. The detective couldn't help but notice her incredible weight loss. Her legs were scrawny. How could it happen to someone like her? Admittedly, she wasn't a trustworthy person, extremely tricky, but her company was quite pleasant.

A tray was on the table, which contained untouched food. Was she starving? Didn't she know that there were people who cared about her? Who spent weeks trying to find her? No, she probably wasn't wondering about this when she suddenly disappeared. But now, she didn't have to hide anymore. It was over.

Irene's outfit was simple : she was wearing a white cotton nightgown. She was probably not really happy to wear such a thing : it was large and shapeless. She particularly appreciated wearing high-coloured dresses. And jewels. She loved wearing at least a necklace, like the one he took from her the day he confronted Blackwood on the Tower Bridge. And after this, he let her go, one more time, knowing that he would probably regret this. However, that day, he was convinced that it was the best thing to do.

Irene frowned, she detected that someone was in her room. Probably a nurse, trying one more time to make her eat something, or wanting to open a window, so much so that the young lady would be bathed in sunlight. Actually, it was the only 'treatment' to the illness which sapped her. Her green eyes opened on a man's silhouette, who was sat on the chair near her bed. That man, she would have recognized him in all places. It was him, Sherlock Holmes. He was there, in front of her. How did he find her? Though, she disappeared without trace. A stranger took her here, she paid him to say nothing to anyone about this. But _he_ will always find her. He was as smart as her, even if sometimes one of them was surpassing the other. She was going to speak, but suddenly she had a coughing fit, and as always, it was like her lungs were coming out of her chest. She took her handkerchief, and covered her mouth with it. After removing it, there was a blood stain on the square piece of cloth upon which were sewn her initials. Seeing the stain, Holmes' eyes googled. Irene smiled : it wasn't usual to see the famous detective surprised.

"There's no need to worry, Sherlock. It happens everyday, I'm accustomed to it."

His eyes meeting hers, he tried to pull himself together.

"Irene, for the Queen's sake, I can't believe I saw you just weeks ago. I barely recognized you, my Dear."

"Illness is tearing me apart, that's all. The first thing I lost was my beauty."

He took her hand in his. It was frozen. He couldn't believe her, she wasn't going to die. She was Irene Adler after all, wasn't she?

"Don't you think that if you had eaten something, you would have been healthier?"

"I'm afraid I lost appetite."

"If you allow me..."

He took the tray and put it on the bed. Then, he took a spoon, and filled it with soup. He offered it to Irene who, under duress, opened her mouth. While feeding her, he wanted to question her about everything : how she came here, why she didn't sent him a letter, but he thought that for the moment, she needed to rest.

"Why did I see your name in the obituaries a few days ago?"

"There's no need to get worked about it at the moment, you have to rest."

"Why do you care so much about me?"

"I thought I had lost you, I'm just glad to see you again."

Irene looked at the man who was in front of her. Physically, he was the same, but there was a gleam, a new gleam in his eye. What did it mean? Had he really been worry about her?

"Do you know that I can't be visited?"

"Yes, I know it. I went here two days ago to check out the place, and someone told me that. So I decided to choose another...option. More discreet."

Irene sighted. No one could stop him from doing what he wanted to do. She always knew he had strong feelings for her, which was something useful when she wanted to manipulate him. But as time went on, she also succumbed to his charms. There was always that game between them : she was the mouse, he was the cat. And endless game, where the trickiest one won.

She wanted to close her eyes, just a few minutes, but she didn't want him to go. It has been a while she didn't see anyone, except nurses and doctors. His presence made her feel stronger. But it was like he read her mind, and stood up. Staring at the window, he said :

"I can't stay anymore, Irene. Nurses will be here in a moment, and I don't think they'll accept my presence."

Tears came to her eyes. He was going to leave her, and she'll find herself facing her despair. Again.

"Will you write to me, Sherlock?"

It sounded like she was begging him. He turned round, went near her bed, and kissed tenderly her forehead.

"Everyday."

Then, he left without looking back. She stared at his silhouette, until she couldn't see him anymore. She closed her eyes, hopeful, dreaming about his next visit.

**THE END.**


End file.
